Slept So Long
by Kenz3B
Summary: Sequal to Lying Eyes. Snape's dreams are haunted by the 1 he couldn't save. Shocking twists coupled with action, romance & the timeless good vs. evil battle. Will we finally learn where Snape's allegiance truly lies?
1. Chapter 1

**Opening Authors Note**: Hi everyone! Welcome back! It was pointed out to me recently that I'd promised a sequal & its been a ridiculously long time since then - so... here's the 1st installation! I hope it lives up to the sequal - I've enlisted 2 betas - just to make sure the spelling & whatnot is up to par! I'm also currently searching for a beta for content & conversations! Anyway - I hope everyone enjoys & takes the time to leave a review - (It only takes a second!) - Thanks for checking it out!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything HP affiliated. Snape is not mine - nor are any of the other characters or items from the HP world that you may recognize!

* * *

Slept So Long

Chapter 1

Her breath on his neck. Gentle kisses, just under his jaw line with those soft, pouty lips, making his pulse race like the beating of some hollow, savage drum, echoing in his ears. Primal. Relentless. Slowly driving him insane, like Chinese water torture.

Perfectly manicured fingernails dragging gently, seductively through his hair, winding around the silky, coal black strands as though trying to hold onto something. She smelled of jasmine, sandalwood and somehow… chocolate.

She touched his face, gently, tenderly… lovingly? No one had ever touched him that way before. Would anyone ever touch him that way again? Her fingers ran slowly from his temple to his jaw, then down his neck and came to rest on his chest.

He wanted to speak, but found himself lost for words. She was just looking at him, content with the silence.

He never figured out how he knew it, but she seemed to say, _"I'm OK now… I'm safe."_

But then she was slipping away. He wanted to grab onto her, force her to stay. _Force her… _as was so characteristic of him. But he couldn't… His hands grabbed for hers, but it was like trying to cup water in your hands; the more you try to hold onto it, the faster it seems to slip through your fingers.

And just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she was gone.

…

Snape jerked awake. He'd fallen asleep at his desk again. "That's the third time that week." He muttered to himself, his baritone voice rumbling like low thunder in his chest.

He smashed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbed vigorously, trying to rub the image of Alexandra Bane out of his head.

This wasn't the first time she'd appeared in his dreams, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. Each dream that he had of her seemed to become more vivid… more _real_.

He looked around his office. His shelves, jam-packed with tattered, old, leather-bound books of all sorts; potions, dark magic and history. Each one had been read and re-read for content more than once. Some were leisure; others were mostly for research purposes. All of them were arranged neatly on the shelf, placed just so… each like an old friend. Looking at them used to bring him some sort of comfort… but not anymore. No longer were their pages so rich with knowledge and tales so enthralling that they provided an escape from the everyday monotony. Nothing gave him refuge anymore.

There were other things on the shelves as well; large, heavy, antique glass jars containing specimens of strange things used in potions making; all suspended in different, acidic, poisonous looking liquids which ranged from blues, several shades of green to red and even one that was almost black. Their contents and purpose unknown to all, save Hogwarts resident Potionsmaster.

The candle on his desk that had been his light source while grading essays before he'd dozed off, had melted down to it's rusted, brass holder. Guttering, choking… dying. He watched it as it struggled to remain alight.

He wondered if that was what Alexandra's death had been like… struggling, forcing her lungs to continue to breathe, frothy blood gurgling in her windpipe, all the while her heart failing, as her blood ran stubbornly from the ultimately fatal wound.

He ran his hand over his face, took a deep breath, and tried to refrain from throwing something. They should have let him take her to Hogwarts. He wanted more than anything to blame her death on the obstinance of the Aurors and their insistence that she was to be taken to St. Mungo's rather than the school. It was easier than the alternative… blaming himself.

He dug in his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. It was just after midnight. He kept the watch in his callused hand for much longer than necessary. He'd never been a sentimental man. Far from it, in fact. But staring at the freshly polished, gold pocket watch with its sparkling, _new_, gold chain, he couldn't help but remember where it had come from. As if it wasn't bad enough that her face haunted his hours, sleeping and waking, even now, nearly a month after her gruesome death… it was worse that everything that surrounded him reminded him of her.

His mind drifted back to three weeks prior. Dumbledore had come to him in his office, late in the evening. Three short days after Alexandra's body had lost the battle to live.

"_Severus… I know these past few days have been especially difficult for you." The older man said, looking sympathetically over the top of his half-moon spectacles. After letting himself in, he conjured up a cushy, chintz armchair which dropped down across from Snape and settled himself down in it._

_Snape sniffed cynically and avoided the headmaster's eyes. He'd been sitting in his desk chair and had refused to even get up to answer the door. _

_Dumbledore seemed to take note of his every move. "I think you should know…" he said, with exceptional kindness and sympathy in his voice, "That there is going to be a memorial service for Alexandra Bane tomorrow evening."_

_He paused, gauging Snape's reaction. There was none. At least not outwardly. "I think it would do you good to attend. It would provide an opportunity for you to grieve and to find some closure."_

"_I do not need to grieve." Snape spat, more harshly than he meant it to be._

_The headmaster paused. "Forgive me… but I beg to differ… You cared for her. Despite the façade you might put on for the rest of the world to see… there are some things that simply refuse to escape me and my stubborn intuition." Dumbledore said, knowingly._

_They sat in a tense silence for some time. Dumbledore looked around Snape's office, looking mildly content. Snape was ready to be through with playing host to company. It seemed that Dumbledore sensed this. And Snape was certainly not sorry when the headmaster stood up, indicating his departure._

"_Consider it…" Dumbledore said simply, dropping a small piece of parchment on Snape's desk. He gave the younger man one last look, then turned and left Snape alone with the address of the place in which the memorial service was going to be held._

_As soon as the door had clicked shut, Snape crumpled up the piece of parchment and threw it violently across the room. He put his head in his hands and refused to look at the little ball of parchment which was now laying conspicuously in the middle of his office floor as though staring at him, taunting him._

_The temptation to go was unbearable. The guilt he felt was more than he could take. He didn't know if seeing her lifeless body would do more harm than good… but somewhere, beneath the guilt, beneath the betrayal, beneath the anger… he felt as though he owed it to her. He owed her this one last thing…_

…

_He arrived _so _early_ _that he_ _was never sure how long he stood outside the building. It was a Muggle funeral parlor. How cliché. Witches and wizards donning Muggle clothing were parading in and out of the building, arm-in-arm, some crying, some only shaking their heads and saying things like, 'What a shame.' And 'She was so young.' to each other as they strolled off down the street, returning to their everyday lives and probably never paying Alexandra Bane another thought._

_More than a dozen times, he'd considered simply turning on the spot, apparating back to the castle and saying, 'To hell with it all.' But something stopped him each time. Finally, with a resounding groan, he climbed the stairs and went inside. _

_The colors of the wallpaper, carpet and overall décor of the place were meant to be soothing, comforting for all those there in mourning. To Snape, they turned his stomach and served as nothing more than a reminder of the reason why he was there._

_He ignored the guest book, and bulletin with her name and picture on it. He lingered in the foyer for a few minutes before venturing inside. His hand clasped tightly around a small object in his cloak pocket. He, unlike the other guests, refused to conform to the Muggle attire, and had come clad in his typical black, billowy robes and traveling cloak._

_Once properly inside, he saw Sophie Storms in her high-style Muggle apparel, standing close to an open casket next to a pretty dark haired girl who was expelling silent, streaming tears. Snape recognized her from the school, but couldn't place her name. Jessica McGrady, one of his students who was moonlighting as a Ministry of Magic Auror was also close by. They were deep in conversation and the young girl that he didn't know was nodding and wiping her dark eyes. Sophie and Jess both looked all-business, as usual. Though, admittedly, Jess appeared less vivacious than typical of her and her lively eyes looked exceptionally tired. Sophie on the other hand, never shed a tear. Never a quivering lip. Never so much as a sign that someone close to her had died at all._

_Also close at hand were two more students, neither of which Snape was happy to see. The Gryffindor Keeper, Wood, who was about to graduate at the end of term, and his girlfriend, the Christie girl who looked as though she was trying hard not to let her emotions get the best of her as she clutched onto her boyfriends muscular forearm. Snape had seen her and Alexandra together many times over the course of the last year._

_There were flowers of all colors and shades covering every inch of bare floor or shelf space. People were filtering through, shaking hands or hugging each other, speaking in undertones about, 'How sad… how sad it was…'_

_Snape waited until most of the people surrounding the casket had dispersed. He would have preferred to have done this alone. Without the watchful eyes of her friends, relatives and most especially co-workers, looking at him and wondering what he was doing there… wondering how he could possibly have the nerve to be there… after all… it had been his fault… in the end._

_With one final breath, he moved forward. With each step, his view of the casket improved. His breath caught in his throat. Some foolish part of him wished that when he looked inside the plush box, made out of sturdy oak, it would be someone else… or no one at all. He had been disappointed._

_There she was. She was so beautiful… exquisite, even in death… she was flawless. And at peace. The guilt that bubbled stubbornly into his consciousness was stabbing at him relentlessly. He pulled his hand slowly from his pocket and tried not to feel the scrutinizing stares of those who were still left in the room with him as he rested his hand on the coffin. _

_He draped a delicate silver chain inside and placed it next to her hand. It was a silver and black pendant, in the shape of a cross. It had been something he'd been meaning to give to her before her initiation. That is, until she'd summoned him to her that night to help her with her own locket. Out of pride, he'd refused to give her a piece of jewelry that he knew she would never wear. Anyway, it would have been sappy. (Even though the purpose wasn't strictly superficial.) It had been a family heirloom. A sort of amulet, designed to protect the wearer from nasty dark jinxes and spells. His mother had passed it down to him, telling him, long ago, to give it to someone that he cared for. He never thought the day would come where the occasion would arise for him to present it to someone. Until her. He wanted Alexandra to have it that night… the night of her initiation incase anything went amiss. He would be sure that she had some sort of protection, other than him._

_He looked in at her fair face and sniffed in disgust with himself. She was an angel. Her makeup was modest, just the way she would have wanted it. Her hair still looked springy and full of life as her trademark long, loose curls had returned for the viewing. They floated out around her head giving onlookers the distinct impression that a chocolate colored halo was surrounding her head. 'I should have given this to you sooner…' he said with sincere regret._

_He took one final look at her before turning from the coffin and leaving at top speed. He burst out through the outer door and hit pavement. He'd only taken a few steps when he heard the door of the funeral parlor bang open again. Footsteps were moving quickly behind him, heeled footsteps. Boots. But light, agile._

"_Snape!" an even female voice called out. He sensed hostility in Jess McGrady's cool intonation._

_His better judgment told him to apparate right there and not give her the satisfaction of what he was afraid she was about to say. But, something held him back, perhaps it was the masochist coming out in him… then again, he deserved whatever berating Miss McGrady had in store for him._

_He heaved a sigh and turned around, "Miss McGrady…" He put an obvious stress on 'Miss'. "I realize that the term is nearly over and summer holidays are almost upon you. I also am acutely aware of the fact that you somehow have managed to convince both Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic that you are worthy of taking on a position as an Auror before you have even completed your magical education, which, I am sure, in your minds eye makes you and I practically equals. However, if you wish to address me, you will do so by using either 'Sir' or 'Professor' and refrain from using my surname alone. I will not tolerate such outright disrespect and insubordination and believe me, Gryffindor could still manage to lose the house cup yet… even so close to the holidays…" he finished, giving her a look that positively screamed for her to keep her mouth shut. But she did not._

"_I don't care what you want me to call you… though, I do have a few choice words that come to mind… but I want you to know that I think you've got some nerve showing up here… considering that you're the reason Lexie is lying in that box in the first place." She arched a high eyebrow and crossed her arms standoffishly._

_Snape didn't like to be accused of things…_ _whether he was responsible for them or not. He drew himself up to full height, looking like an oversized, menacing bat. But how was a person to respond to such an accusation?_

_Jess, sensing her advantage, pushed the envelope. "Any way you look at it – you are responsible. If you're good, like you say you are_ _and you're on the right side, then why did you let her take it that far? Why did you let her go to the initiation? Why didn't you just stop her before it was too late? Personally_, _I think there's only one explanation for that…"_

"_Which is?" Snape said mildly, though he could feel his blood heating up._

"_That you're evil. That you're still an active Death Eater who's loyal to the Dark Lord." She paused. They locked eyes and for a moment, it was a staring contest. Almost like trying to master a Hippogriff. Neither would blink, which surprised Snape. The entire time, Jess' hazel eyes never faltered. _

_Finally, she spoke again. "You know, you might have Dumbledore fooled_, _maybe even the Ministry_, _but I don't buy your reformation act. I think it's a bunch of shit. While my position with the Ministry prevents me from telling the entire world that you're still a lowlife Death Eater_,_ I can assure you_ _that I will be watching your every move." She paused again, sighed, and dropped her stare to the ground for a moment before continuing._

"_Lexie was a colleague_,_ a friend_,_ a good person_,_ and a good witch. And I'm going to miss her. That's what tonight was supposed to be about before you walked through those doors. I just hope that you weren't here to make a mockery of her, that your reasons for being here were pure. Though, I realize that's probably a stretch. It was my understanding that she cared a great deal for you and for that reason, out of respect for her, I will honor my word to the Ministry and not tell the entire school that you're still in Voldemort's back pocket." She said. And with that, she turned on her heel and marched back inside the building without _as_ much as a backward glance at him._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - **SO - i've gotten quite a few subpar reviews on this chapter. apparently snape was out of character, it was confusing in changing venues & lexie isn't a very good match for him... pensive stare... hm... i'm not sure how to fix all of that - but i'm going to make an attempt to correct it... any suggestions?! i think its rather too late at this point... while i realize my hiatus has been rather extensive.. i didn't think it had effected my ability to write well. anyway - taking suggestions on how to correct this mess of a chapter! ha ha - thanks again to all who reviewed!

* * *

Chapter 2

Pain, searing pain. Fire, stabbing and burning through every inch of sinew, every muscle, bone, nerve ending. Excruciating, blinding pain. Death seemed a welcome thought when in comparison to the level of pain he was enduring at that moment. And it was certainly not the first time that Severus Snape had wished himself dead.

It seemed as though a heavy London fog had settled in around his head. Thought was clouded by the pain threshold that had been breached long before. He tried to remember where he was… but it was no good.

He was certainly lying on the floor. It was cold, hard… stone. His face was wet, sweat, perhaps? Blood, more likely. His mouth was bone dry. He couldn't swallow. It was dark, damp and chill.

He willed his eyes to open. They twitched several times before they obeyed. Slowly, his dark lashes fluttered open and he squinted into the dark. He was in a stone room. There were no windows, no furniture. A dungeon. And he felt right at home.

He used his arms to try to push himself into a sitting position and failed several times as his hands slipped in something wet and tacky on the floor. It was only after his third attempt that he realized that it was his own blood. He wiped his hands off on his already blood-soaked robes and repositioned them on the floor to have another go.

Just then a door banged open over his shoulder and he was suddenly and unpleasantly swallowed in a blinding white light coming from the outside corridor. His eyes reflexively snapped shut and he raised his arm to block the invasive light out of his eyes, which had become accustomed to the dark during his long stint in this foreign dungeon cell.

When he lowered his arm, he spotted a silhouette in the doorway. Then two. Before he could force his brain to determine who they were, he was being hoisted, unceremoniously to his feet, which promptly collapsed under his weight. The two figures hauled him back upwards where his feet dangled uselessly beneath him, like those of marionettes.

He remembered later, having wondered where they were taking him. And hoping that it was to his death. "Just make it quick…" he thought. "End this hell."

When his two captors let him crumble to the floor, thought returned. He looked up and directly into those horrible, bone-chilling, red slits of eyes, that belonged to the only person who could make this evening any worse than it already had been… The Dark Lord.

Voldemort surveyed Snape for some time, circling around him like a vulture over prey. He noted the blood spilling from the nose, mouth and forehead of his spy and was privy as to how Snape had come to be in this condition.

"Severus…" the Dark Lord said in his high-pitched, whisper of a voice, like the wind rattling through the dead trees of winter.

Snape cringed.

"You did not return to me when I called…" he trailed off.

Snape did not answer. _'Just make it quick…'_ he remembered thinking.

Voldemort raised his wand and Snape closed his eyes, preparing himself for the peace that death would soon bring.

But it was not the end for Severus Snape. Though, he soon found rest.

Some hours later, Snape awoke in a much more comfortable place than the last time he had regained consciousness. The pain was mostly gone, save for the throbbing pain in his head, which he could only assume was attributed to the high level of duress that he had endured that night, which had lasted an eternity.

In contrast to the cold, stone floor, this time he found himself on a warm, soft, feather bed with a cushy, cream colored comforter and a sea of pillows. There was soft, pale white moonlight spilling gently on the bottom of the bed and out over the shiny hardwood floor. It was heaven.

But he was not alone. A steady, fine-boned hand laid a cool cloth on his aching forehead. He was barely aware that the cloth had not moved independently. Moments passed before he heard the trickling of water and felt the cloth being replaced on his chest. This seemed to bring him to his senses. He opened his eyes properly and looked up at the other. A woman. Young. Dark hair, dark eyes… moving gracefully as she turned the cloth over on his chest. She spoke softly to him. Her tone was soothing, yet, somehow, disturbing at the same time.

"You're going to be fine… everything's going to be alright Professor."

His dark brows knitted together, _Professor?_

"Here…" the figured twisted around on the bed and retrieved a glass filled with water. "Drink this… it'll help."

Snape pushed himself up on his elbows in order to get a handle on what it was that he was seeing.

His eyes must have shown his shock, for she spoke again.

"You don't know me…" It was not a question.

"You were dead…" he gaped. "I read in the _Daily Prophet_…"

"Oh… I was never dead." She laughed a hollow, empty, cold laugh and placed the glass on the bedside table. She licked unnaturally red lips sensually and leaned over him. Her face was bony, pale, sallow looking, not unlike his own. Corpse-like, he would venture to say.

"I was _presumed_ dead…" she corrected him.

Snape couldn't believe his eyes. His mind was racing, trying to remember, word-for-word, what he'd read in the _Prophet_, over a year ago.\

"… body could not be located… Ministry workers had no clues in the abduction… presumed dead…" It was choppy, and confusing.

"Have you missed me?" she said slyly, straddling him with her arms, trapping him, like a spider to a fly.

He pushed himself backwards on the bed, up towards the headboard and into the sea of pillows.

She traced a line down his jaw with her sharp, blood-red fingernails. His hand shot up and caught her by the wrist. But instead of repelling her, it seemed to have had the adverse effect.

She smiled widely, "Oooh… I always knew you'd like it rough!" she said excitedly, moving to climb onto him.

But with as mighty a shove as Snape and his weak body could manage, he threw her from him. "_Don't_ touch me, Miss Zaizen."

Natasha Zaizen flopped onto her back at the end of the bed, looking as though he'd slapped her. "I thought…" she said, looking at him in confusion.

"You did?!" he said in mock astonishment. "You actually _thought_?! What an accomplishment! And _what_, pray tell, did you _think_?" he spat, getting to his feet.

She followed suit.

"Well… I thought now that Lexie's been dead-"

She never finished her sentence. He had seized her by the throat and whirled her around into the wall. Her skull smashed into it with a sickening _crunch_.

"_Never_, talk about her. Do you understand me?" he said through bared teeth, clutching her tightly around her throat, and toying with the idea of choking her to death right there on the spot.

She was trembling uncontrollably, but managed a nod.

He sneered at her for a moment longer. Some things, some people would never change. He had always been repulsed by Natasha Zaizen, and it looked as though he always would be.

He snatched up his traveling cloak from a nearby chair, and paced swiftly, purposefully, to the door, leaving Natasha sinking to the floor next to the bed. He found his way to the front entrance and let himself out into the warm June night. It was then that he realized… today made exactly one year since Alexandra Bane had been dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Dark Lord had been merciful. Whatever anyone wanted to say about the most feared wizard of all time, they could not say that he acted before he thought... Perhaps it was because he knew that he would have use for Severus Snape in the future. Perhaps he had believed him. Perhaps he had other motives, unknown to anyone but himself. Whatever the reason, Snape had been spared.

Now the Dark Lord was rising to power. His numbers were growing steadily every day. And Snape was stationary at Hogwarts, unable to act, for either side… The Death Eaters were busy trying to procure the prophecy concerning Harry Potter and Voldemort while the Order of the Phoenix was busy trying to thwart their attempts. Snape could be seen working for neither side, which left him irritatingly idle.

Frustration, itself, was bad enough. But frustration coupled with guilt and loss caused by the death of the second woman he'd ever cared for, made it almost unbearable to sit in his dungeon office as snow fell on the long sloping Hogwarts grounds. While the students and teachers spirits soared with the excitement of the upcoming Christmas holidays approaching, Snape felt only a looming sense of apprehension and idleness.

It'd been ages since he'd been asked to do anything useful for either side. So when Albus Dumbledore had called him to his office shortly before the Christmas holidays with a 'job' for him, Snape had been glad for the opportunity to do something… _anything_.

It seemed impossible that he should leave Dumbledore's office feeling more harassed than he had when he'd entered. The headmaster had asked him to teach Harry Potter Occlumency; the art of protecting one's mind against external penetration.

"_Fantastic…" _Snape thought. _"Extra lessons with Potter. Happy Christmas indeed."_

…

Begrudgingly, Snape let himself into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. He strode purposefully toward the kitchen.

The swinging door, leading into the kitchen, was ajar just enough for Snape to see into the room before entering. There sat his arch nemesis, Sirius Black, laughing heartily with his childhood friend and werewolf, Remus Lupin.

Even despite his long stint in Azkaban, the wizarding prison, the years since their Hogwarts graduation had been kind to Sirius Black. His wavy black hair fell gracefully into his face, which was alive with laughter. His dark blue eyes sparked in the candlelight and crinkled, kindly at the corners. These wrinkle marks were characteristic of one who had laughed and smiled often over the years.

Snape bore none of _these_ wrinkles. Instead of the laughter lines at the outside of his black eyes, he only had a deep, dark crease in the middle of his brow to speak of. He, unlike Sirius, had not spent much of his youth laughing and being happy. Just the opposite in fact.

No, Sirius Black was still sickeningly handsome. The bits of gray that were creeping around his temples and into his beard only made him look more sophisticated; as though they had been placed there, strategically… and on purpose. If the day ever came, where his name was cleared and he could show himself to the world again, it would only be a matter of deciding which witch to be with first.

With a fresh wave of disgust washing over him, Snape stretched out his hand and pushed the door open. It banged against the door jam, causing both men to look up in surprise.

The smile slid off of Sirius' face and was replaced by an ugly scowl, worthy of Severus Snape.

"I need a word with you, Black." Snape said curtly.

Lupin looked between the two enemies nervously. "Uh… well." He said awkwardly. "I should be going anyway. Happy Christmas, Sirius." He said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

He moved around the table, not taking his eyes off of Snape. "Severus," he said as he passed, "Happy Christmas."

Snape did not reply, but stared back at Sirius.

The kitchen door had swung shut, leaving them swallowed in a dim glow coming from the fireplace and candles.

"What's this about Snape?" Sirius asked, not moving from his seat.

"It's about Potter." Snape, likewise, remained rooted to his spot.

"Really? I thought perhaps you'd come to express your condolences for the loss of my niece."

Snape and Sirius Black had not been alone in a room together since Alexandra's death.

"Oh yes," Snape said, his temper flaring at the mention of Alexandra Bane, Sirius's estranged niece. "Because the two of you were so _very _close." He said acidly.

"The relationship between Alexandra and me is none of your business." Sirius said angrily.

"You've made it my business by bringing it up, Black. I'm sure your grief is unmatched by anyone's."

"My grief runs deeper than you can possibly imagine, Snivellus." Sirius said, gripping the table with both hands.

Snape doubted it.

There was a pause in which the two only glared at each other, hatred hanging heavily in the air.

"What is it you want with Harry? Haven't you done enough damage to this family without dragging him into the equation?" Sirius asked.

"Of course, first the mourning uncle, now the doting Godfather. How very touching."

"If you're here because of something that Harry's supposed to have done at school-"

Snape cut across him. "I am _here_… on Dumbledore's orders. The headmaster is requesting that the boy learn Occlumency."

"What's that got to do with you?" Sirius asked, still scowling.

"He wishes for me to teach him."

"An excellent idea!" Sirius laughed coldly. "After all those extra 'lessons' you had with Alexandra and the results they've yielded. No! If that's what Dumbledore wants, then someone else can teach him!"

Snape's voice was soft and barely under control as he answered, "The headmaster wishes for _me _to teach Potter. If you have a problem, then I suggest that you take it up with him."

"Maybe I will." Sirius said, nodding. "I won't allow you to cause anyone else in this family pain."

"I assure you, that no one in your… _family_… has suffered by my hand."

"I'll thank you to leave your _hands _out of this!" Sirius said hotly. "They've done enough damage as it is."

"And what _damage_ am I supposed to have done by my _hands_?" Snape asked from behind clenched teeth.

"The damaged was done the night you started putting them all over my niece!" Sirius shouted, standing up suddenly, his chair toppling over behind him and crashing to the hardwood floor.

Snape's eyes widened. No one could have possibly known about the night that he had spent with Alexandra.

"That's right." Sirius nodded, knowingly. "I know all about you and your seduction of her."

"_Seduction?"_ Snape asked softly.

"I know what you did to her! I just haven't figured out how you did it! How is it that you managed to lure her into bed with you?"

Snape felt his hand twitch toward his wand, which was still stowed in the interior pocket of his robes.

"Was it a love potion? Something you brewed up in your lab with your chemistry set? Or was it something a bit more advanced? Perhaps an old Death Eater favorite, like the Imperius curse?"

Wands were drawn. Sirius was shaking with fury. Snape felt the same rage shooting through him but it was coupled with something else; pain?

It wasn't as though Snape felt that he had ever been worthy of the likes of Alexandra Bane. It wasn't the first time that he'd wondered why she'd chosen to care for him the way she had. But hearing it out loud, from his enemy, made it cut even deeper. Memories from his own time at Hogwarts and the taunting he'd endured for the feelings he'd had for Lily Evans, came crashing down around him. James Potter and Sirius Black's voices rang in his ears as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

If Snape hadn't known better, he would have thought that Black had, himself, been skilled in Leglimency, for he spoke Snape's thoughts out loud at that very moment.

"Lily loved James, Snivellus! She never loved you! And neither did Alexandra!" Black spat.

A curse was on the tip of Snape's tongue when the kitchen door swung inward.

"Sirius, I-"

Molly Weasley had just entered the room, holding a basket full of freshly laundered robes. She looked up and her jaw dropped.

Snape and Black were standing on opposite sides of the table, both red in the face and brandishing wands, as though about to square off.

"What's going on here?" she asked, outraged.

Both wizards dropped their arms to their sides immediately.

"It's nothing, Molly." Sirius said, trying to return his voice to normal and failing miserably.

"It certainly _looks _like something!" she said, horrified.

She glanced at Snape. He looked away.

"Honestly, Molly… just a couple old school friends… reliving some childhood memories… that's all." Sirius assured her.

Molly Weasley looked thoroughly unconvinced.

"Do you know where Harry is?" he asked, trying to sound mildly unconcerned.

"I… I think he's up in his room, playing wizard chess with Ron."

"Would you be a dear and fetch him for me? I need to have a word with him."

"Of… of course." She said, looking skeptically and backed out of the room.

Black sat. Snape did likewise, but only to keep up the appearance of civility.

The appearance of Harry Potter in the kitchen hadn't helped matters much. Tempers flared for a second time and wands, again, were drawn. Thankfully, the rest of the Weasley family had appeared, escorting a fully healed Mr. Weasley into the kitchen, and thereby snuffing out the chance of a duel happening for the second time that day.

Snape stormed out the door, acutely aware of the fact that the wound, caused by Alexandra Bane's death, was still wide open and perhaps more painful than ever. He felt the urge to do something drastic, something dangerous, anything to distract himself from hating Sirius Black and missing the bastard's niece.


End file.
